First Position

by Prescott Lane

  Wesley could tell Tomás was stalling, churning inside. He took a long drink in satisfaction and decided to take the upper hand. “Tomás,” he called out.

  His heart sinking, Tomás put back the newspaper and slowly turned around. “Wesley, is that you?” he asked, squinting his eyes to see across the small room.

  “Yep.” Wesley motioned him to come over. “Have a seat.”

  Tomás gathered some courage and slowly walked towards the table. “How have you been?” he asked, taking a seat.

  “Pretty good,” Wesley said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, I just came in to get a paper.”

  “Oh, I thought you had the paper delivered to your house.” Wesley took another sip, delighting in tweaking Tomás, now squirming in his chair.

  “I discontinued it a few weeks ago,” he lied.

  Wesley picked at his muffin. “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”

  “It has.”

  “Would you like some of my muffin?” Wesley offered.

  “No, I’m good. Like I said, I just came in for the paper.”

  “Right. I forgot,” Wesley said, grinning. “How’s your art?”

  Tomás cocked his head to the side. “Been hard to put ideas on canvas lately. A bit of a struggle.”

  Wesley offered no sympathy. “We all have our struggles,” he said flatly, then enjoyed the silence that fell over the table, clearly making Tomás uncomfortable. Wesley took another long sip of his drink, as if to congratulate himself for his zinger.

  “How was your sister’s wedding?” Tomás asked, reaching for something to say.

  “It’s not until June.” Wesley paused to pick at his muffin. “I decided to go.”

  “That’s great! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  “I had asked you to call if you patched things up with your family.”

  Wesley stirred his cappuccino. “I guess I forgot that, too,” he said, then looked directly into Tomás’ eyes. “Just like you apparently forgot to take care of me when I needed you most.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Tomás said, stiffening his spine. “I wanted you to be true to yourself.”

  Wesley smiled. “That’s the funny thing, Tomás. I was.”

  “No, you weren’t. You. . . .”

  Wesley cut him off. “I was, Tomás. I was being true to myself. I’m a gay man -- a scared, gay man -- just doing my best to get by,” Wesley said firmly, without any regard for the eager ears of the other customers. “That’s me. That’s how I am at home, at work, and with my family. Take it or leave it, and you left it.”

  Tomás sat back in his chair, surprised by Wesley’s honesty, hitting him like a freight train. Wesley ordinarily was so full of jokes and clownish ideas, that he rarely, if ever, ventured into any direct discussion like this. Tomás had always assumed that Wesley’s reluctance to deal with his family was from a lack of pride, never considering it was from a lack of confidence. He reached across the table for Wesley’s hand, but Wesley pulled away.

  “I’m good. I don’t need that.”

  “Please, I. . . .”

  “I’ve got to get to my class.” Wesley stood up and looked down at Tomás. “But you think about what I said. You treat strangers better than you treated me. When you get a handle on yourself, you call me.”

  * * *

  Mason thought about having breakfast with his mother in the hospital cafeteria, or just visiting with her in the waiting room of the maternity ward. But he wasn’t hungry, and the waiting room didn’t have real good memories from the day before. He finally decided on the hospital chapel because his conversation demanded privacy, not wanting to worry about the tone of his mother’s voice around other people, or whether they could hear a sensitive talk between a mother and son. He also figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some divine intervention. Mason needed to set things right. As far as he was concerned, the time for ignoring and bickering and public fighting was over.

  He sat alone in a pew in the small, quiet chapel, skimming through a prayer card containing a list of the Ten Commandments. He hadn’t seen them since Sunday School twenty years ago, now reading them carefully, pausing at the fourth one. Damn, that one is tricky.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Son,” Kathleen said, walking through the chapel entrance. “I can’t remember the last time we had a date.” She took a seat next to him.

  “Me neither. I thought the chapel would be a fun spot.”

  “I’m glad you think about places like this. Shows I raised you right.”

  She reached up to straighten his hair, but Mason swatted her away, smiling. “You did a good job, Mom. I know it wasn’t always easy doing it alone. Steven and I never made your life easy.”

  “Still don’t. But you’re right. I just did the best I could under the circumstances.”

  “I know.”

  “And now I have an NFL player and lawyer to show for it. And, of course, a beautiful new grandson.”

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Don’t know how someone as ugly as Steven could create that.”

  Kathleen laughed. “Your brother’s not ugly.”

  Mason smiled, then paused, needing to get down to business, as time was short. “You know how you said you did the best you could under the circumstances? That’s what I’m doing, too, Mom.”

  Kathleen knew where this was going and patted his hand. “It’s not that I don’t like her, Son. I do, but you lose all reason when it comes to her.”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “Mom, you know I’m not a rational person. That’s you and Steven.”

  “But you just don’t think straight around her.”

  “Of course I don’t, Mom.” He took her hand and looked in her eyes. “That’s because I love her.”

  “But you passed on a better contract because of her.”

  “She didn’t even know about it.”

  “It could be your last contract!”

  “I don’t care, Mom. I love her. I’ve loved her my whole life.”

  Kathleen exhaled, twirling the diamond cross on her necklace. “I just don’t know. When you were with Alexis, you could focus on your career, and . . . .”

  “Mom, please!” He could feel his blood pressure rising, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “Alexis and I are done. My career is going to last, what, maybe another five years if I’m lucky. Then what? I want to be happy beyond that.”

  She patted his hand. “Son, I want you to be happy,” she said sweetly. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I know, Mom, but my version of happiness is different than yours. And remember, I tried your version, and it didn’t work out too well for me,” Mason said, his voice shaking. “So if you want me happy, you need to let go a little bit.” A tear fell from his eyes, and he wiped it away.

  She couldn’t bear it -- her huge son, an NFL quarterback, crying in a small hospital chapel. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, Mason putting his head on her shoulder. “I need your help, Mom,” he said, sniffling. Honor thy father and mother. “I really do.”

  Holding her son, Kathleen found peace in his words. My boy needs me. She couldn’t remember the last time her sons needed her. It meant everything. “Whatever you need.”

  * * *

  Emory held Noah in her arms, humming softly and rocking him slowly in the corner of the hospital room. Olivia rested on the bed, with Stephen beside her, feeding her an early lunch of roast chicken and mashed potatoes from the hospital kitchen.

  “So, Stephen, what did you get Olivia?” Emory asked, tickling Noah’s nose.

  He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “For what?”

  “For bearing your child!” Emory winked at Olivia. “It’s called a push present.”

  “A what?” He fed her the piece of chicken. “Is this some rule I’m supposed to know about?”

  “Not a rule,” Olivia teased, with her mou
th full, “just common courtesy.”

  Stephen scratched his head, then gripped the stubble on his face for support. “I’ve got more chicken,” he said, laughing.

  “Better make sure Mason knows about the push present rule, Emory?” Olivia winked at Steven, who then narrowed his eyes, urging her to mind her own business. Emory looked up at them both, confused. “Oh, come on,” Olivia said, “feeling faint and puking. We think it’s great.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emory then suddenly realized Olivia, and perhaps even Steven, truly thought she was pregnant, and had even discussed it. Little did they know, she and Mason hadn’t even had sex this time around. “I’m not pregnant. Just a little food poisoning.”

  “Sure, OK, whatever,” Olivia said. “Mason said the same thing.”

  Emory’s eyes widened. “You told Mason you thought I was pregnant?”

  “You mean you haven’t told him?” Olivia replied.

  Emory looked to Steven for help. “There’snothing to tell.”

  Steven picked up a piece of chicken. “I guess we were wrong,” he said, shrugging, then shoved another bite of chicken into Olivia’s mouth.

  Mason barged into the room with his mother, holding her hand. “Where’s my nephew?”

  “And my grandson?” Kathleen countered, nudging her son in the stomach. Olivia pointed to Emory quietly rocking Noah in the corner, Mason’s chest swelling at the sight. Kathleen walked eagerly towards her, and Emory noticed a bounce in her step and a brightness in her face, as if some weight had been lifted. “He looks beautiful in your arms,” Kathleen said. Emory gave a quick look to Mason, still standing in the doorway, and he nodded, indicating progress had been made. “Mind if I have some grandma time?”

  “Of course.” Emory gently passed Noah to her and rose from the chair, offering it to Kathleen, who got lost in him immediately.

  Mason teased Steven that he now had more hair on his face than on his head, then swiped a piece of the hospital chicken, offering his sympathies to Olivia. Emory quietly retrieved her camera from her bag and snapped a picture of Kathleen holding Noah. “Oh goodness, please don’t do that, dear,” Kathleen said, primping her hair. “I’m due to have my roots done.”

  Emory pushed some buttons so that the image appeared on the camera screen and knelt down next to Kathleen. “Look how beautiful you two look together. I imagine you looked the same thirty years ago holding Steven.”

  “Thank you, dear.” She squeezed Emory’s hand.

  Mason walked to them and eyed the image over their shoulders. He kissed his mother on top of her head and winked at Emory. “Noah’s better looking than Steven already.” Steven tossed a piece of chicken at his brother, striking him in the temple, then falling to the floor by Emory.

  “I agree with you, Mason,” Olivia said.

  “You want me to fire some at you, too?” Steven teased. “You’re not all delicate and pregnant anymore.” Emory picked up the chicken and threw it back at him.

  “Good for you, dear,” Kathleen said. “You can see how I had my hands full raising both of them.”

  “I have a hard enough time with one.” Emory smiled up at Mason.

  Kathleen saw the sweetness and love between her son and Emory -- it was obvious from the way they looked at each other. She’d seen the same thing in the old post-game photo she kept in her album. “You’re doing a good job, dear. I’ve always thought that.” Emory hadn’t heard such loving words from a maternal figure in over twenty-five years. For all the kindness and love her father had shown her, she’d missed out for so long on the kindness and love of a mother. Emory leaned over the chair arm and wrapped her arms around Kathleen’s neck, careful not to disturb Noah whose eyes had just closed, Kathleen looking sweetly at her son during the embrace.

  “I’ll make sure to send you a copy of the picture when we get back to Charlotte,” Emory said and stood up. “Who’s next for a picture?” Steven launched another piece of chicken in her direction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When Emory returned to Charlotte, so did her nightmares -- as bad as they’d ever been. She found herself afraid to sleep in the same bed as Mason, fearing she’d scare him and he’d then question her again about them. He hadn’t brought up her bad dreams in a while, and she wanted to keep it that way, but she wondered if it was time to come clean. Maybe that’s the only way out.

  She stood alone at the ballet barre below her apartment, the lights dim, staring at herself in the mirror. She felt weak and tired, dark circles under her eyes, and put her hands on her cheeks, stretching them downward. She hadn’t recovered from seeing Mason holding Noah. The moment had brought everything back, making it all more vivid and real. She couldn’t suppress it any longer. The temporary high she felt taking pictures of Kathleen and the family in the hospital room and throwing food at Steven, had long since passed. It seemed like years ago. She slowly brought her hand to her chest, massaging her heart, never thinking the hole inside could get any worse. But just over the past few days, the hole in her heart indeed had grown deeper and wider, all of her worry and pain spilling out like a volcano, bubbling to the surface and affecting her body and mind.

  A slow, somber melody played, and she began to stretch.First position. She placed her leg on the barre and bent to the side, continuing to stretch until her body felt limber. She started to dance, slowly at first, and rose up on her toes. As the music grew faster, so did the intensity of her movement. She shifted gears, gaining strength and power, then made a series of jumps across the floor, landing in front of the mirror. Her body felt tired, but Emory had a new resolve within. I will tell him tonight.

  Mason pulled up in front of the dance studio. He’d been consumed with physical therapy and team commitments since coming back from Texas. He hadn’t spent the time he wanted with Emory and knew his days were only going to get busier with performance drills starting the next day. And he was nervous about that, having not thrown in months and unsure whether he even could. He figured a night with Emory would calm his nerves, and a surprise visit would be a good start. He carried a bouquet of pink tulips towards the door, expecting to go upstairs to her apartment, but spotted her at the barre, cooling down.

  Emory wasn’t in her usual leotard, but a see-through, pink ballet sweater with a black bra and a skimpy black shorts. He saw her flat stomach, and the curve of her waist, her blonde hair cascading down her back. Mason stood in the shadows of the viewing area, admiring her. “Any chance I can get a private dance?”

  Emory jumped. “You scared me!” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve missed you the last few days.” Mason said, walking towards her and pulling the bouquet from behind his back. She smiled and thanked him, as he kissed her cheek. She held them to her nose, breathing in the sweet smell of spring. Mason took the bouquet and dropped it to the floor, then wrapped his arms around her waist. “So, how about a private dance?” He began to kiss her neck.

  Emory moaned softly. “This is a pretty public place for a private dance.”

  “You’ve never been shy before.” Mason untied the front of her sweater, opening it, and placed his hands on her warm, bare waist, pulling her close. He’d missed holding her, touching her, everything about her. He made his way around her body, kissing her lips, neck, and shoulders, her sweater falling to the floor.

  She felt a twinge between her legs. Maybe I should do this before I come clean and ruin everything? She untucked his shirt and began to undo the buttons. He picked her up, Emory wrapping her legs around him. Breathing heavily, she removed his shirt quickly, watching herself in the mirror, and threw his shirt to the floor. Mason began to move quickly, holding her with one hand and undoing her black bra with the other. Emory pulled back slightly, causing Mason to stop, but then she removed her bra and flung it on the floor, biting her bottom lip. Mason’s eyes took her in. She kissed him hard on the lips and pushed herself into him, the warmth of her
breasts covering his hard chest.

  “Holy shit!” Wesley screamed, as he walked into the studio, quickly covering his eyes.

  “What the fuck!” Mason yelled. Is this some kind of fucking punishment? He shielded her from Wesley’s view, as she quickly grabbed her bra and sweater.

  “I’m so sorry, guys,” Wesley said nervously, looking the other way. “I have a private lesson tonight.”

  Emory threw Mason his shirt. “It’s OK, Wesley, we’re all covered up now.” She grabbed the bouquet from the floor, and Wesley turned around, careful to avoid looking at either of them. Emory led Mason out of the studio, Mason glaring down at Wesley along the way, and then she offered Wesley an apologetic smile. “I was giving a private lesson, too.”

  Mason slapped her backside, as they walked upstairs. “That was embarrassing,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

  “I was really enjoying myself, too,” he said. “I liked the mirrors.”

  Emory blushed, getting a vase for the bouquet. “Me too.”

  “Do you think he looked at my butt?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Emory grinned, filling the vase with water. “It’s mine anyway.” She carefully arranged the tulips in the vase, then drew a deep breath. Tell him now. “Mason, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “What’s up?” he said, kissing her neck. “But before I forget, are you free tomorrow after my performance drills? I have a little something planned.”

  Emory pulled away. “That’s tomorrow?” Can’t tell him now. Shit!

  “I know, it snuck up on me, too. I’m a little nervous.” He pulled her close again. “So I need you to distract me, to keep me nice and loose.”